


changing my major

by someonespooky



Category: South Park
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Anxiety, College, Crushes, Fluff, FtM Trans Kyle Broflovski, Implied Sexual Content, Inspired by Fun Home, Light Angst, M/M, Mutual Pining, Song Lyrics, Trans Kyle Broflovski
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-15
Updated: 2019-06-10
Packaged: 2019-11-18 15:33:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 14,884
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18123137
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/someonespooky/pseuds/someonespooky
Summary: caption:i am horribly,terribly,unfortunately,disgustingly,awfullyin love with my best friend.(based on the song "Changing My Major" from the musical Fun Home.)





	1. Chapter 1

Caption: It was the little things that drove Stan crazy.

 

Not anything that a freshman in college would usually talk about like a guy having a nice ass or a chick having huge tits. Rest assured he'd  _ tried  _ to talk about those things with Kenny, but it never worked out because he was too fixated on the little things. Pretty, full, pink lips. A stupid laugh that no one else could match. Walking with just enough energy to draw attention to everything hot about a person.

 

And his best friend, Kyle, seemed to have all of those.

 

Stan would catch himself staring all the fucking time at that redhead. Kyle often got mad at Stan for not focusing in conversation, but he loved to just stare at Kyle for hours on end and count the freckles along his cheekbones. He couldn't help it, really. He usually sat right behind Kyle in the classes they had together, which was like, only one or two since they were studying different things, but that all meant he would find himself staring at Kyle even more, watching his fingers wrapped tightly around the pencil and the muscles in his thighs shift every so often because the seats were too uncomfortable.

 

Stan wasn't sure if Kyle knew about that all, and he really hoped he didn't. Whenever someone told Kyle he looked nice, Kyle did basically whatever he could to cover that feature up. The last time that happened was in tenth grade, when Kenny told him he had a nice ass so he did everything in his power to hide it from him. There were other times, too, and by the time Stan figured it out, Cartman did too, as he used that little quirk of Kyle's personality to make him feel like garbage for a good part of two months.

 

Even then, he still loved Kyle. Well, he only allowed himself to admit that Kyle looked cute. Not hot, because that was weird to Stan, but he was… cute. He had the cutest blush when he was mad, and always fumbled over his words when he had to talk to someone new. His curly, fiery hair reminded Stan of a fox, but he always wanted to slap himself thinking about it because the last time he tried to explain just why he thought that, Kenny laughed and called him a furry. (Kenny was only half wrong.)

 

Kyle hated being called “cute” which was understandable to Stan. He wasn't sure of the full thing, but Kyle was double-majoring, one in psychology and one in theatre, claiming he was interested in the human mind and wanted to learn more about people. That's just about where Stan dropped out of the conversation, but all Stan got from it was that Kyle was too important to be cute.

 

Kyle was the smart psychology/theatre major, always the most proper and prim “don't talk to me” person Stan's met. And Stan, was… well, Stan was his friend. Sure, he worked his ass off to get into this college, and hell, he was the first one to get accepted, even getting a fucking scholarship. But the second he got that scholarship and started to worry about having to leave Kyle, his best friend started working his ass off more than usual to get into that college as well. His dad had the money to cover it, and both of his parents were supportive. Not because it was Stan because they clearly didn't like Stan as much as Kyle did, but because that college was one of the best in the area. 

 

And college had been fine, for a while. Stan enjoyed working hard, even if it didn't seem like that at times, and he liked going back to their apartment in the area to find Kyle on the bed that they shared because two beds would be entirely too expensive. Granted, they don't spend as much time together as Stan would like, with Kyle taking up later classes and Stan running around for his classes the entire day. He hadn't even noticed how…  _ observant _ he'd became of his best friend, maybe unhealthily so. 

 

But maybe that was okay. Kyle was someone that Stan liked to look at, nothing more. 

~ • ∆ • ~

“So then, while Lottie was- Lottie is the woman who is playing Mrs. Murphy. While Lottie was getting ready, and like, she takes forever to get ready-” Kyle rambled on, pencil scratching against his paper. Stan had just about dropped out of the conversation by then, watching Kyle's pale hands grip the pencil tightly. He knew Kyle often got annoyed at him for that, and sometimes he felt bad, but he couldn't focus. They were sitting together on their bed, with Kyle trying to copy down notes from his History of Psychology class that he took in class but his handwriting was a little sloppy (Stan thought it looked fine but Kyle wasn't satisfied with it) so he decided to redo the entire thing in gel pens with cute little doodles of bees at the top to give it more personality.

 

Kyle was full of those little details, Stan always noticed. Doodling flowers and clouds and bees on the top of his History of Psychology notes (but none of the other subjects - maybe it was an assignment from the professor) was only one of the things he always did. If Kyle was a major of his own, a course to study and to get a degree in, Stan was sure he'd graduate in no less than a month with how much he's able to focus on Kyle.

 

“Stan, are you even listening?” Kyle asked. His accent had thickened over the years, making him sound ever so subtly like a character from Jersey Shore. Stan mocked him for it sometimes, but it was always one of the things he liked to notice. 

 

“Zuh?” Stan took a second to snap back to reality. “Yeah, yeah I'm- I'm listening, dude.”

 

“What was I talking about, then?”

 

“Uhh…” He didn't know. “Sorry, dude, I- you know how I am.”

 

Kyle let out a small giggle, going back to his notes. Stan was fairly relieved that Kyle wasn't pissed, but he still felt a little bad as he rubbed the back of his neck guiltily. He liked listening to Kyle, but his Aspergers hadn't gotten better since fourth grade when he was diagnosed and he often found himself unable to focus. Kyle tried to be understanding, from what Stan could tell, and Stan was grateful as all hell for that. 

 

“Well, that's all I really gotta say and, uh, even if you weren't listening, it's nice to talk sometimes. Mr. Planchette said that people often do better when they talk because humans are innately social creatures,” Kyle explained. Stan didn't even know what 'innately’  _ meant _ and here's Kyle, using it in a regular sentence.

 

“Sounds like regular Psych bullshit,” Stan snickered, giving Kyle a punch on the arm while he was switching out his pens. He hoped that it didn't hurt, but over the years, Stan had grown stronger, with how active he was, and Kyle just stayed the same. Kyle often liked to blame his own mediocre stature on the ridiculous amount of caffeine he drinks on a daily basis but he'd also stated before that it was all bullshit. Stan didn't mind Kyle being so short, it just added to the Reasons Why Kyle's Fucking Adorable list. 

 

“Like you're any better,” Kyle rolled his eyes with a snort and a laugh. They'd known each other for God knows how long and that snort was still adorable to Stan.

 

Maybe Kyle had a point, though. Stan was majoring in music, of all things, because he wanted to make his life as interesting as possible even if he had to live at his parents’ house for the rest of his life. Well, houses. They'd divorced when he was 14, but he'd rather not think about that. But Stan really cared about music and the works, even if Kyle liked to make fun of him for being the most cliche meathead jock ever, being on the football team and absolutely loving sports. He'd talk about it as much as he allowed himself to. 

 

“I do my best, dude. You know that,” Stan sighed with another chuckle. He really did. Even if he was a crippling alcoholic and everything, he really did try and like, can Kyle really ask for anything other than his best? Stan doesn't seem to think so. 

 

“I know, I know,” Kyle giggled flippantly. 

 

“You  _ always _ know, Ky,” Stan snickered, resting his head atop Kyle's fluffy curls. 


	2. breakfast in bed

Caption: Mornings were nice sometimes, for Stan, even though he really wasn't a morning person.

 

What woke him wasn't the blaring of the alarm next to their shared king bed. Instead, it was the waft of bacon sizzling on the stove and the sound of gentle humming floating through the apartment. Stan swung his legs over the mattress and shoved the blanket off, feeling like a child waking up and realizing that school was off because it was snowing.

 

_ "If I could begin to be…" _

 

Stan slowly walked out of the bedroom, in nothing but a Broncos shirt and his boxers. Kyle always made their room entirely too hot, since he was consistently cold every single night, and as a result, Stan could barely even stand to wear a t-shirt and his boxers. However, he couldn’t just sleep with  _ nothing _ on, because that would  _ definitely _ be gay, so he had to compromise somewhere.

 

_ "Half of what you think of me…" _

 

He listened to Kyle's soft humming, sounding like the morning song of birds as the early breeze of dawn made way for the beams of sunlight streaming through floating clouds.

 

_ "I could do about anything…" _

 

Stan stood at the end of the hallway, peering around the corner to see Kyle, tending to what looked like a breakfast neither of them would be able to finish. He wasn't sure if it was just because of his mom, but Kyle never failed to make more food than they needed and then have the leftovers for lunch the next day. Sometimes, he'd leave some food for Stan, too. 

 

"Dude?" Stan said after a second, yawning and stretching his arms above his head. Kyle turned around to face him for a second, already dressed for the day and wearing an apron to avoid getting any bacon grease or raw egg on his sweater. After seeing that it was just Stan, the redhead turned back around, spatula still in hand.

 

"Good morning," Kyle replied, "you need to shave." In actuality, Kyle didn't mind at all the stubble that sometimes grazed Stan's jaw. It looked nice on him, since he was one of those people who was somehow able to pull it off. 

 

"Meh, I'll shave later." Stan gave a small, boyish smile - the kind of smile he's had since he was eight, though over the years Kyle just noticed it more - as he stepped into their kitchen area, right behind Kyle. He wrapped his arms around the smaller man's waist, pulling him close. 

 

"What're you doing?" Kyle inquired, flipping a pancake with the spatula that was in his hand. He didn't seem phased by any of this, so Stan didn't see a need to stop. 

 

"I'unno," the man shrugged, "just sorta watching you make pancakes." Neither of them had classes on Saturdays, since they had decided that was going to be  _ their _ day. They had strategically planned their schedules around one another on this day, because it was the only day they could really spend time with one another and they didn't want to lose the relationship they had. 

 

Which, in all fairness, might sound gay. But they're not. Neither of them are gay. 

 

Scratch that -  _ Kyle's _ gay. He came out last year, right before they moved away, because that was when he felt it was the safest. His parents were very, very accepting and his brother just shrugged it off since he had already just assumed. Since his father and Randy spent so much time together, he had heard Randy's worries about Kyle "turning Stan gay". He made it very clear that he had nothing against gay people, though, so Kyle figured it was fine. 

 

But Stan isn't gay. Not as he was pressed against Kyle in just his boxers, resting his face in those wild curls that felt just a little damp and smelled of lavender and honey. Not when he said "I love you" every night to another man. And most  _ certainly _ not when he was forced into a closet in a game of Spin the Bottle two years ago with his best friend. 

 

None of that made him gay, and it never will.

 

"You don't need to watch me make pancakes," Kyle huffed. He was cute when he was flustered, Stan noted, but quickly scratched the thought because Kyle wasn't  _ cute.  _ He was his friend. Well, super best friend, but still his friend and nothing more.

 

"But you're good at it. And I wanna spend time with you," Stan countered, knowing that what he had just said was probably only half of the reason he found himself watching Kyle's slender fingers wrapped around the long spatula, working tediously with the batter-

 

_ God damnit, Stan.  _

 

The two stood in silence for a few minutes. Stan was enjoying it, maybe a little  _ too _ much but that didn't matter to him. He swayed back and forth, holding Kyle's waist in his tight grip as if he were going to disappear and Stan needed to hold him one more time. 

 

Kyle flipped a pancake over skillfully, listening to the sizzling as he continued his humming. Stan had recognized the song - it was from a cartoon that he knew Kyle watched since they sometimes watched episodes together. Steven Universe? He wasn't sure. It sounded nice, though, so Stan didn't say anything about it. Kyle was a nerd, but at least he was an adorable nerd. 

 

"Why do you always hum that song?" Stan asked once he was completely positive it was over. Kyle's voice was like… butter on pancakes? No, that's stupid, he'll have to think of a better analogy than that. He was supposed to be a music guy, but he can't even think of analogies and metaphors to save his life. 

 

"It's from the show I like," Kyle shrugged, "and what I think- well I mean, what I find interesting, is the fact that Rebecca Sugar - the made the show - she said it could be any of the characters talking to any other character. Because we all have flaws and we all wanna be more like someone else."

 

Stan took a second to process those words. "This whole thing is from a kids show?" he asked with a chuckle. 

 

"Yeah. But the show- it like, teaches kids things that are  _ really _ important. Mindful meditation, how to cope with feelings of anxiety, how to deal with loss and a  _ lot _ of other skills that kids will need," the redhead went on, knowing that Stan was only half listening. When Kyle was interested in something, he didn't stop talking about it, and Stan found that absolutely fucking adorable sometimes. 

 

Stan hummed in response, nuzzling his nose into those soft, red curls. No matter how much Kyle hated his hair, Stan would always cherish those scarlet locks until they started to fall out. In the rare moments where Kyle didn't have his green ushanka atop his head, Stan would do anything he could to tangle his hands in those full, bouncy curls. Kyle always told him to stop, without fail, so it was a surprise to Stan when there wasn’t a word about it from the shorter man.

 

“I like your voice,” Stan said after a second, out of nowhere.

 

“Were you listening to what I  was saying?” Kyle asked with a slight chuckle. Stan took a second, thinking, before realizing that he was, indeed, only half-listening and had forgotten pretty much everything Kyle said.

 

“Kinda,” he replied, though it definitely sounded much more like a question than Stan had intended. Kyle just sighed and shook his head, tossing another pancake on the plate next to the stove.

 

The two stood in silence again. It wasn’t awkward - though, to be fair, nothing was ever really awkward between them. They’d been through everything together; Stan had seen Kyle break down a million times over and knew that the posters in his old childhood bedroom hid a bunch of holes in the wall and Kyle had held Stan’s hair back when he was puking into the bathtub at 3am on a Tuesday night after drinking four or five bottles of beer and crying for hours. If it was quiet, that just meant that they ran out of things to talk about, not that they felt uncomfortable with one another. Stan trailed a hand upwards along Kyle’s hips to his curly hair, twirling one of those curls around his finger and then letting go. As he watched the curl bounce back into place, he heard a small sigh from Kyle. Was he annoyed? Stan didn’t really care, though he felt a little bad if he had, in fact, made Kyle feel annoyed just by playing with his hair.

 

Stan’s gaze fell past Kyle, to the rest of the food that Kyle had prepared. He couldn’t tell the order in which everything was made, but there were three different plates with food. Eggs, bacon, and toast. How long had Kyle been up? Stan almost felt guilty, knowing damn well Kyle probably tried (and failed) to wake him up before making all this food himself. There was a lot of it, too - almost as if he were feeding two families of eight. Kyle was good at cooking, too - even if it was only bacon and eggs with some toast, he almost decided that he wanted to be a chef before deciding that he wanted to research more about the human psyche and develop his social skills, hence the theatre and psychology majors. Plus, he used to help his mom cook dinner, and sometimes he’d show Stan how to make the more traditional Jewish meals they had. Stan completely forgot everything he was taught, but somehow Kyle managed to remember. 

 

“Looks good,” Stan commented. Kyle let out a chuckle, flipping one of the last pancakes. He seemed proud of his work, which made Stan feel all the more guilty.

 

“I’m glad you like the way it  _ looks, _ but that doesn’t exactly give me any insight on the way you think it  _ tastes, _ ” Kyle remarked. 

 

“Okay, smartass. I’m gonna wait until you finish cooking. Wouldn’t be fair to just start eating now,” Stan countered as he wrapped his finger around another loose curl, twirling it around for a few seconds before letting go, just as he had done before.

 

“Well, lucky you. I’m almost done.”

 

As Kyle tossed the last pancake on the plate, Stan backed away and marveled at Kyle’s work. Kyle had so many interesting and useful skills; he could cook, he was damn good with a bow and arrow, he could write, he was a god editor, and he was really good at understanding slurred speech and text. Stan was physically fit, and could lift heavy objects, but most certainly wasn’t as skilled and receptive as Kyle had always seemed.

 

Kyle reached over and turned the stove off with a sigh, tossing the pan in the sink to be washed later. They had a few things to take care of, but the one thing Saturdays were for was spending time with your bro - which is exactly what Kyle intended on doing. He reached up for the cabinet, standing on his toes until his fingertips grazed the porcelain plate that he intended on grabbing. He let out a content sigh when the plate was finally in his grasp, sliding it down out of the cabinet. Stan just watched, not wanting to interfere in fear of Kyle going on another one of his “I don’t need your help, I’m perfectly fine” speeches - something that just got worse and worse as time went on. Besides, it gave Stan a perfect view of… certain things.

 

His ass. Stan was staring at his ass.

 

Stan was a little relieved when Kyle had managed to slip the plates out of the cabinet since he wasn’t exactly ready for a confrontation this early in the morning. (To be fair, it wasn’t  _ that _ early, but to Stan it was since he had woken up pretty damn late.) They didn’t have a kitchen table because of the size of their apartment, so Kyle and Stan made their plates with the forks Kyle had left out before the two walked out to what they called the living room. In reality, it was just a couch, a carpet, and the old television from Stan’s childhood bedroom that they decided to bring with them when they moved. 

 

Kyle sat on the floor, looking up at Stan and waiting, as if he were saying ‘come here’ with just a glance. Stan obliged, sitting down next to Kyle with his plate on the floor. He slipped his arm to the arm of the couch, grabbing the remote and looking for a channel to watch. 

 

“Why do we need the TV on?” Kyle asked abruptly, stabbing an egg with his fork.

 

“We don’t- I mean, we don’t  _ have _ to have it on, I just figured, y’know, if we’re out here,” Stan shrugged as he shoved a forkful of pancakes into his mouth. Kyle sighed, knowing he’d probably be the one to vacuum since the only time Stan could really vacuum was early in the morning, because when it was night, the neighbors would complain about the slightest bit of noise.

 

Kyle let out another small giggle, swallowing the food he was eating. “You sound like your dad,” he pointed out. Stan gasped and placed a hand on his chest, in mock offense. “The way you said “y’know, if we’re out here”, I mean. Your dad was the  _ worst _ with that trailing-off-in-the-middle-of-a-sentence bullshit.”

 

“Thanks, dickmunch,” Stan rolled his eyes with a chuckle. He took another bite of his food, chewing as he listened to the news in the background.

 

As they finished their food down to the last crumb, Kyle recounted a story of when they were children. Kyle had been sitting alone at a tree, reading  _ Of Mice and Men, _ and Stan asked why he was sitting alone as he sat next to him. Kyle went on to explain the entire plot of the book, and Stan could barely focus - instead trying to count how many freckles exactly the redhead had. It was cold, so the two boys sat close enough to one another to the point where they could feel each other’s body heat radiating off of one another through the thick winter jackets they always wore. Eventually, Stan had cut him off, asking for his name, to which Kyle responded “Kyle Broflovski” like some sort of third grade elitist. Kyle asked for his name in retort, and then Stan just said “Uh, Stan?” with the most adorable stumble.

 

There wasn’t much more to say, so Kyle stood up and walked to the kitchen. Stan managed to tear his gaze from Kyle for just long enough to stand up as well, trailing along behind the shorter man. He tried to remember what exactly they were  _ just _ talking about, but his mind seemed to have gone blank the second Kyle stood up. 

 

What a fool.

 

“What’re we doing today again?” Stan inquired as he slipped his plate into the sink.

 

Kyle shrugged. “I didn’t plan anything. Maybe we could go to the aquarium up the road, or--”

 

“Dude, no,” Stan cut him off, “Aquariums are cruel--”

 

“--ways of making money? Yeah, I know. But that aquarium is one of the ones that functions more as a wildlife centre. They preserve different endangered fish and rehabilitate the fish that’re able to go to back into the wild. Plus, tickets are half off for couples on Saturdays,” Kyle rolled his eyes. Stan could tell that Kyle  _ really _ wasn’t having his bullshit today - though he couldn’t blame him. It was supposed to be  _ their _ day, to make sure their relationship was as good as it could be, not for arguing.

 

“Wait,” Stan interjected, “couples?” That was really the only part he had a problem with. They’re not a couple - why would they go to a couples’ event at an aquarium?

 

“Uh, yeah? We’re not- I mean, we aren’t a couple, duh, but I think we could pass as one. If my mom and your mom both thought we were dating, and your dad actually fucking warned you about people thinkin’ we were fucking, I think we could probably get that discount.” Kyle really did have a good point, and Stan was rendered speechless for a minute. He wasn’t sure if it was his mind playing tricks on him, but he was almost damn sure that he saw tiny gears working behind those scarlet red curls. How much had Kyle thought about this?

 

Stan sighed in defeat. He couldn’t argue with Kyle - though he has never met a single person who has been able to sufficiently have an argument with that man. “Yeah, okay, sure. We’ll go, just -- give me a minute to get dressed,” he sighed. 

 

A small grin invaded Kyle’s lips, the sort of grin he always had when he knew damn well that he had won. “I’ll just be out here, washing dishes if you can’t get your jeans on.  _ Again, _ ” he snorted. 

 

“It was  _ one time, _ damnit,” Stan scoffed as he started to walk away. Or maybe it was two, maybe even more than that, but sometimes those damn jeans happened to be too tight and he may or may not have had a few too many beers to the point where he just sorta forgot.

 

As he walked away, Stan tried to figure out whether or not Kyle was planning something. Because he  _ always fucking was. _ Especially when he said “I didn’t plan anything today” only to become so damn adamant about going to the aquarium. And what for? It was just an aquarium. Sure, Stan loved fish - hell, if he wasn’t getting a degree in music, of all things, he’d probably be getting his degree in marine biology - and maybe Kyle knew that, but why did he just decide today that he wanted to go to the aquarium? There were a lot of questions that Stan didn’t exactly have the answer to, and at this point he was beginning to become frustrated with himself so he gave up on those racing thoughts. 

 

With a huff, Stan elbowed open their shared bedroom door. He closed it with his back as he began peeling that Broncos shirt over his head, tossing it into the hamper. Kyle was always very particular about not leaving laundry on the floor, and Stan didn’t exactly have much of a choice but to comply. He opened one of his dresser drawers, digging for a pair of jeans that wasn’t stained with some mysterious liquor that he didn’t even really remember the name of. At some point he meant to stop overthinking this whole thing, but he just couldn’t bring himself to. He felt the same way he did when he went on his first date with Wendy, his first - and, like, last - girlfriend.

 

Was he treating this like a date?

 

Well, to be fair, friends do this all the time. If he was  _ coincidentally _ treating this like a date, then those feelings were most certainly misplaced. He almost felt disoriented, but continued in his search for a damn pair of jeans.

 

His thoughts were interrupted when he found a decent pair of jeans. Stan sighed in relief as he sat down on the bed, pulling the denim fabric over his legs. He closed the drawer of the dresser and pulled open the drawer just above it, picking the first shirt he saw out of the drawer since it didn’t exactly matter what shirt it was. He’d just be putting on a jacket over it anyways. That’s how it is in Colorado - shirts don’t matter because there’s always a jacket going over it. 

 

As Stan strolled out of the bedroom, he slipped his jacket off of a hook and fumbled to get his arms in the sleeves. He was greeted by Kyle struggling to get his ugg boots on, which caused a small, charming grin to cross his lips. Stan let out a soft chuckle as he wandered over to Kyle, who had managed to only get one boot on.

 

“Need help?” Stan asked, causing Kyle to roll his eyes.

 

“I’m not a damn damsel in distress,” the redhead huffed, “I can get my own fucking boots on by myself.” Stan was just glad that he stopped there instead of going on another speech.

 

“Okay, okay,” Stan chuckled, throwing his hands up in defeat before bending down to pick up his own sneakers and grabbing a pair of socks from their sock bin. He didn’t really ever see the point of a “sock bin”, but Kyle said that’s always how his mom made him sort the socks, so he just sorta went with it. 

 

As Stan plopped himself down on the couch, he saw Kyle stand up out of the corner of his eye, reaching up for his green ushanka left on the hat hook thing that Stan never knew what to call. It was just a few hooks by the door that they sometimes left jackets or hats on but never really used for anything else. Stan never questioned that either, just assuming it was something his mom told him to do when he was little and he never got out of the habit. He didn’t mind the small bit of convenience they provided, either, so there was no point in complaining about it, really. 

 

Stan slipped a pair of white socks on, with a pair of Vans following suit. Kyle, on the other hand, was busy trying to make sure all of his curls remained under the hat. It was a useless endeavor, because there were always, without fail, a few tufts of red hair sticking out of the front and back of his hat. Stan had always found it endearing, but Kyle complained that it just wasn’t enough and constantly got frustrated by that part of his body. To be fair, though, Kyle was constantly frustrated with himself - nothing was ever enough for him. Stan’s mom called it perfectionism, but Mrs. Broflovski called it silly.

 

“Stupid hair,” Stan heard Kyle groan as the two of them continued to get ready. Stan’s thoughts continued to race while he glanced over to the redhead, trying to figure out why his mind was going a mile a minute. He kept trying to reassure himself that this really wasn’t a date, but now - with Kyle trying to look presentable (which, Stan thought he damn well was) - it really just felt like that stupid thing with Wendy. It didn’t really help that they were going to an aquarium on a Saturday, either, because Kyle  _ hated _ crowded places and screaming children, yet he was so willing to give that all up. It really made the whole thing feel planned. Maybe it wasn’t, but Kyle just seemed so  _ ready. _ Why was he so calm and casual about this?

 

It’s not like there was anything to not be casual about, he reminded himself. They’re just two guys, pretending to be a couple to get into an aquarium for half the price they’d normally pay. Kyle  _ was _ very thrifty, after all, and maybe he was making himself look all presentable just so the people at the gate genuinely thought they were a couple. Or something like that. In any case, it was working - Kyle looked adorable in the sweater and leggings he had picked out, and--

 

“Dude?” Kyle inquired, interrupting Stan’s trail of thoughts. “You’ve been staring for, like, two whole ass minutes. Hurry the hell up.”

 

“Yeah, yeah, I got it,” Stan chuckled, trying to pretend he wasn’t just thinking about how cute Kyle looked. Kyle rolled his eyes with a snicker, reaching in his jacket pocket for his keys. As soon as he found them, Stan managed to drag himself off the couch and over to the apartment door.

 

The door unlocked with a click, and Kyle shoved his keys back into his pocket as he turned the doorknob. Their apartment was weird, because you had to have the keys to unlock it from both ends. The one time Stan asked, Kyle just shrugged and said “rent’s cheap” because neither of them were really able to pay for anything more expensive and the apartment was a decent size for two guys in college.

 

“You driving?” Kyle asked. Stan usually drove the two everywhere, because it was his Jeep - a Hybrid Wrangler, of course, because he’s Stan, what else would it be? - and he was very particular about what went into it and how it was driven. It wasn’t an issue for either of them, and if Kyle needed to, like, make a trip to the store for milk or something, Stan would let him drive. They practically shared everything, and the Jeep wasn’t an exception.

 

“Yeah, guess I am,” Stan shrugged. Their apartment was on the eighth floor - mostly because it was cheaper than the first floor for whatever reason - so the two of them made their way over to the elevator.

 

The elevator ride was rather uneventful, with Stan and Kyle sharing occasional glances but nothing more. As Kyle watched the numbers change on the digital display, Stan just thought more. This  _ wasn’t _ a date. It wasn’t and will never be considered a date because the two of them aren’t gay for each other and if anyone were to suggest otherwise their claim would be absolutely preposterous.

 

Right?

 

And anyways, Stan has liked women in the past. Wendy’s a woman - or, they  _ were _ a woman, but they transitioned to agender in their freshman year of high school. They said it’s who they felt they were and were more confident in their identity that way, and Stan completely and utterly respected them for that. But that’s besides the point, because when Stan dated Wendy, they hadn’t transitioned, which meant that they presented as a woman and Stan was attracted to a woman. Well, a girl, but still female.

 

The elevator ding interrupted Stan’s thoughts once again. He let out a frustrated sigh, which earned a small quirk of the eyebrow from Kyle. Stan just shrugged, as if to say “I dunno man” before they started walking out. Kyle kept his head down and hands shoved in his pockets while Stan gave a friendly wave to the woman working at the front desk. Kyle and Stan were completely different when it came to people - Stan loved to interact with others and hear their thoughts while Kyle was definitely the more reserved of the two. Neither of them minded their obvious differences, and Stan even found it endearing when Kyle would get so flustered in social interaction that he could barely speak, because then Stan could reach over and hold his hand, giving it a small squeeze to make sure he’s okay. Kyle was diagnosed with GAD - general anxiety disorder - in the sixth grade, and it hasn’t really gotten better, but Stan does his best to help in any way he can. The two have a way of supporting each other that Stan thinks is really unique to them, because he’s never really seen two friends so attached at the hip. 

 

“Dude, you keep spacing out,” Kyle murmured, “is everything good?”

 

“YEa- yeah. Yeah dude, I’m okay,” Stan fumbled, trying to ignore that horrendous voice crack as Kyle tossed him the keys. The taller man unlocked the Jeep as Kyle walked to the other side, and the two of them climbed in. Stan plopped down heavily on the leather seats, stuffing the keys into the ignition and turning them while Kyle continued to try to get situated.

 

“Can you turn the GPS on?” Stan asked. No matter how much he needed that damn GPS, he wasn’t going to look at his phone while driving, since he was absolutely awful at multitasking. Kyle obliged as he picked up his own phone and plugged it into the AUX, opening the Maps app and looking for the address of the place they were headed. Stan adjusted his grip on the steering wheel while he pulled out of the parking lot, trying not to hit any trees or traffic cones like he was so infamous for in his senior year of high school. His mom always joked that he had his dad’s driving skills.

 

The drive, much like the elevator ride, was uneventful and bland. Kyle put a few songs they both liked - Getting Naked, Playing With Guns by AJJ, Worried by Atlas, and 40oz On Repeat by FIDLAR - on, tapping his leg to the rhythm of the music while Stan drove. He didn’t allow himself to become lost in thought this time, because he knew he needed to focus on the road even if it was only a few miles away and there wasn’t really much to worry about. It gave him a chance to  _ not _ think about Kyle and how much of a date this all seemed to be. He followed the GPS’s instructions, making a turn every few blocks. They lived in the city, unfortunately, and he could almost hear Kyle starting to get pissed off at the awful driving skills of everyone around them. If Stan had his dad’s driving skills, Kyle definitely had his mother’s road rage to the point where it was kinda unbearable at times.

 

As buildings passed by and cars blasted their horns, Stan’s thoughts began to race. And eventually, to his horror, cars started to slow down around him. The two of them were stuck in traffic, which meant he didn’t have to think about driving, and that stupid GPS kept saying its annoying “proceed to the route” which just seemed to make Kyle more frustrated. Stan drummed his fingers on the steering wheel impatiently, moving just an inch every minute or so.

 

“God, I have such a fucking headache,” Stan complained. He did not, in fact, have a headache, but he wasn’t sure how to break the silence. His thoughts only made him feel more tense, and their current situation wasn’t helping. Usually, Stan was pretty damn good at making conversation, but he didn’t want to talk about the aquarium and he didn’t really want to say something that Kyle would just get pissed off at. In all honesty, though, Stan tried to avoid enraging Kyle at all costs.

 

“You  _ always _ have a headache,” Kyle challenged. “That’s a side effect of drinking so much, you know.”

 

Stan just rolled his eyes as traffic started to move again. “Spare me the details,” he sighed. 

 

And after a second, Kyle sighed too. Neither of them seemed to want to talk about this, and Stan was relieved that those feelings were at least mutual. Traffic was moving at a steady 15 miles per hour, and Stan was so fucking thankful that, by some miracle, they weren’t really going to talk about Stan’s drinking habits in slow moving traffic.

 

“What should we do first, when we get there?” Kyle inquired. Stan audibly sighed, and out of the corner of his eye he could see a very concerned expression on the redhead’s face.

 

“I’ll leave it up to you to decide. It was your idea,” Stan shrugged, making a turn off of the road that had become flooded with traffic. The GPS rerouted their journey as he did this, letting them know that they were on the fastest available route. Stan was relieved as all hell to be privy to the information that, soon, they’d be able to get out of this car and go see some fish.

 

“You’re the fish expert. I wouldn’t really know what to go to first. Any particular fish you really wanna see?” Kyle pressured. 

 

“I wanna see the sharks, I guess. I think they’re cute,” Stan shrugged again, running a hand through his messy black hair. The songs were already over, so Kyle unplugged his phone from the AUX and turned on the radio. Nothing was on that either of them really cared to listen to, but Kyle still fiddled with the dials anyways, in a fruitless endeavor for music they’d both listen to. To their equal dismay, clouds were starting to form overhead. What once was a lively, sunny day felt dreary and bleak. Kyle’s red curls sticking out of his ushanka felt like the only bit of color in the car as rain started to patter against the window. Stan flicked on the windshield wiper, trying his damn hardest to focus on the road - and failing. Miserably. Two random guys droned on about the news on the radio - new shows, the traffic, the weather. Nothing Stan really cared about. He felt impatient, being so crammed in the Jeep, but having Kyle there made it feel okay.

 

He tried to shake the thought that just the mere proximity of his best friend of, like, over ten years could improve his mood just like  _ that. _ It wasn’t like Kyle was one of those overly optimistic people, either - he was more of a realist, if anything. Harsh and snappy with the shortest temper Stan has ever seen - but he refused to make decisions without fact, and that was something Stan could admire, being the biggest softie he knew aside from Clyde Donovan and Bella Faucheux, the girl in his French class sophomore year of high school.

 

Maybe that was why his head was spinning. He had a soft spot for Kyle - he always did anyways. Maybe he just felt that, but just a little more. It wasn’t completely uncommon. Sometimes he’d wake up and just feel more things than usual. His mother explained it was hormones when he was around 15, but - at twenty-one years old?

 

God, he was a  _ mess. _

 

Stan shook away the thought as he made his final turn into the parking garage. 


	3. parking garage

Caption: It felt like a date. Was it a date? It wasn’t a date. It could've been a date. But it wasn’t. What is going on?

 

“We’re here,” Stan sighed, circling the parking garage for a place to park the car. Kyle had dozed off, and Stan wasn’t exactly sure if he was heard, so he decided to give the redhead a few gentle nudges on the shoulder. A part of him wanted to let Kyle sleep, as though he were taking care of a sleeping baby animal (maybe a fox?) but the part first and foremost knew they had to go into the aquarium and Kyle would kill him for letting him sleep anyways.

 

Kyle mumbled something unintelligible, which just made Stan sigh as he (finally) found a spot to park the damn car. The Jeep let out a subtle beep as it halted in its place, which is what finally woke Kyle up. Stan couldn’t really feel it, but he knew he was probably smiling like a dork. Kyle acted so much like a cat sometimes, and Stan found it funny - or was it cute? He didn’t know.

 

“How much are the tickets? I brought money so it’s--” Stan asked before he was interrupted.

 

“I’m paying,” Kyle mumbled. “You’re saving up for that thing - the new guitar? So don’t- I mean, don’t waste your money.”  Stan couldn’t lie and say he didn’t appreciate the gesture, because honestly, he really wasn’t sure if he even had enough money to afford it. Kyle, on the other hand, probably had the money to pay for those tickets in exact change, knowing how prepared he was all the time. Stan just sighed at the thought, and nodded - giving in to what Kyle wanted. When he glanced over to Kyle, he had that same proud grin plastered across his freckled cheeks, like a cat that knew it was about to get what it wanted.

 

Stan grabbed the car keys, tugging them out of the ignition and stuffing them in his hoodie pocket. He popped open the car door before walking over to the trunk, pressing the button to pop that open.

 

“What are you doing?” Kyle asked, wandering over to the back of the Jeep as well.

 

“Getting us umbrellas,” Stan shrugged. “My mom used to keep umbrellas in the trunk all the time, just in case it rained. She always told me to do that.” As he spoke, he pulled out two umbrellas, examined them both, and decided they only needed the one. They  _ could’ve _ used the two, but Stan just decided that carrying two umbrellas would be entirely too much and they’d probably be here for a while. Stan was taller than Kyle, anyways, so it’d be pretty damn easy to hold the umbrella over both of their heads.

 

“Sick. Then let’s head out,” Kyle said, yawning after his proclamation. Stan just chuckled and, before he could really have the time to think about it, reached over for Kyle’s hand. He panicked for a second, but his worries faded when he felt thin, dainty fingers intertwine with his own. He tried his damn hardest to reassure himself that this entire encounter was completely platonic, but he just couldn’t seem to quiet down the screaming voice in his head to do something.

 

“We were pretty stupid kids,” Stan mumbled. Kyle looked up at him and quirked a brow, squeezing his hand ever so slightly. “I was just- I don’t know. Thinking. About how we were stupid kids. Remember the time we went to the aquarium in fourth grade?” he attempted to explain. The two of them stood close, radiating one another’s body heat as they stepped onto the elevator of the parking garage.

 

“God, that was so fucking dumb,” Kyle rolled his eyes. “I don’t even know, like, why I was such a stupid kid. At least you have an excuse, y’know, because of your dad, and--”

 

Stan just chuckled. “My dad’s gotten better, dude,” he joked. “He’s not, like- he’s not as childish. Mom said his new girlfriend is trying to work on his drinking with him, I think. She was like- she said that maybe this’ll be better for him.” His gaze flickered between Kyle standing next to him and the flashing numbers of the elevator. On a day like this, he figured, no one would really be going to the aquarium. Stan was slightly relieved, too, because Kyle tended to have anxiety flare-ups in larger crowds.

 

The elevator let out a loud ding as the doors began to part. Kyle was already eager to get out of the cramped, dirty elevator - to nobody’s surprise. Stan just allowed Kyle to drag him along, trying to keep up the pace as the redhead pushed open the door to the lobby. The noirette opened his umbrella, listening to the pattering sounds of the heavy rain on the rough fabric as the tip faced the sky. 

 

Rain had always been somewhat soothing to Stan. He was around fifteen when his mother picked up smoking, and the two always sat outside when it rained. He remembered evenings where he’d sit out on the porch with his mom, cigarette smoke in the cold, mountain air while a country radio played in the background. He’d always find comfort in those evenings, talking about what happened that day or something Sparky did. His mom had the sweetest “I shouldn’t be laughing at this” giggle - the ones moms always have. 

 

“It really is raining,” Stan sighed as he fixed his grip on the metal handle of the umbrella.

 

“You’re just now noticing?” Kyle chuckled.

 

“Well- no, I was just- I was pointing it out. It’s raining a lot. It’s-”

 

“Dude, it’s okay,” the redhead sighed, elbowing Stan in the arm. “I’m pulling your dick. Don’t worry about it.”

 

“Pulling my- what?” Stan stammered out.

 

“It’s an expression.”

 

The two of them walked in silence the rest of the way. Well - not  _ complete _ silence. The passing cars and Kyle’s humming provided just enough noise for a nice walk in the rain, like they had created their own little bubble of space just under that umbrella, the soles of their shoes pattering down on the cold, wet pavement. Kyle didn’t get out much, and Stan figured that was why he was lolling his head around like a child who had never seen the city before. Stan tossed an arm around Kyle’s shoulders and pulled him close like they do in all the movies. 

 

Stan had always liked being close to Kyle. Not just emotionally, but physically, too. He liked playing with his hair lazily in the morning when they had just woken up and pulling him close under the heavy blankets in the evening. It was a sort of physical reassurance for him, since he’s never been able to handle loss very well - but he also enjoyed these things in a mildly possessive way. Kyle and him were best friends and nothing was going to change that, not even the sun colliding with the Earth.

 

The aquarium started to near, and Stan was almost disappointed - their walk was a chance for his mind to unwind, spilling thoughts all over the cold, damp concrete beneath them. Kyle, on the other hand, seemed ready, eager, as if he were a powder keg, ready to explode with tons of built up energy inside. Stan could feel that just by the tense muscles in his shoulders that he was so fucking ready for this. 

 

“So are you- I mean, you said you were paying for the tickets, right?” Stan asked as he gave a glance to the shorter man.

 

“Yeah. I’m paying, dude. You got parking, right?” Kyle chirped. 

 

“Yep, all covered.” 

 

With this settled, the two of them walked into the aquarium.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry for the short chapter!! i promise i'll try to make the next one longer ;v;


	4. strangers

Caption: Kyle was exhausted, and Stan was not.

The two made their way out of the aquarium, with Kyle resting in Stan’s arms. Stan had known that Kyle was introverted and couldn’t be around people for so long but damn, he seemed exhausted. His eyes were closed, fading in and out of what appeared to be a light sleep.

They’d practically spent all day at the aquarium. By the time they left, the workers were familiar - and quite annoyed - with the two of them. They hadn’t really done anything wrong, but they had the outward appearance and demeanor of two college kids looking for something to do, ready to disrupt the peace with their mere presence. Well, Stan had that appearance - Kyle really didn’t look the part at all. He just looked like some kid with his best friend, following along with whatever shit Stan had planned. Or, at least, that’s the impression he got from the facial expressions of the workers at the aquarium today.  
“How much longer?” Kyle mumbled sleepily. Stan was trying to recount exactly what had happened at the aquarium, head racing with a million different thoughts all at once, mind a catalog of disaster. The weight on his back - a backpack they bought at the little shop to carry everything, which had cotton candy, a whale plush, and a few pamphlets tucked into the largest pocket - reminded him of the times he’d carry Kyle on his back, but then scooping Kyle up just became easier.

“Few minutes,” Stan replied curtly, fixing his grip on Kyle. It was late - maybe around 9:15? - and Stan really couldn’t remember his way back to the parking garage. At that point, he was just trying to guess the way by buildings and signs he’d seen on his way up.

The rain wasn’t nearly as heavy as it had been. Misty night air surrounded them, an occasional drop of water falling down from a building or wire above. Neither seemed to mind the sudden change in atmosphere, though it provided the perfect scenery for Kyle’s impromptu nap. Stan took the time to admire his sleeping friend - the way his curls framed his face, how his eyelids were lightly closed, how the street lights streamed gentle rays of light on his porcelain, freckled skin. He knew it was probably wrong to stare so lovingly at someone he had only considered a best friend, but he really couldn’t help himself. Kyle always looked so gentle, so at peace when he had fallen asleep - a nice contrast to his headstrong, fiery personality in the daytime.

Was staring wrong, especially now? Stan felt that tightness in his chest - the same feeling from the car ride - returning out of nowhere. He fixed his hold on Kyle as he continued to walk, trying to focus on anything else. Nothing caught his interest - his mind, when it wandered, found its way right back to Kyle, sleeping in his arms like a baby animal.

As the parking garage approached, Stan couldn’t help but let out a heavy, relieved sigh. Another group - three girls that looked to be the same age as Kyle and Stan - started to approach the building as well. The sight was even more relieving, because Stan could ask them to press the elevator button instead of having to let Kyle out of his arms. A taller girl held the door for the other two, and Stan began to speed walk towards them, trying to make sure Kyle was still asleep. The girl saw him rushing and decided to hold the door, with a concerned yet amused look on her face.

“Boyfriend fall asleep on you?” the tall girl chuckled.

“No, he’s not, uh- We’re not dating,” Stan shrugged, looking down at Kyle again, “but yeah. He fell asleep.”

“Oh, damn. Sorry about that. I was just- I mean, you two look like you’d be a cute couple so I just assumed.”

“Thanks…?” He wasn’t sure if that was supposed to be a compliment.

“Me and my girlfriends - we’re poly? - were just getting back from dinner and I just, y’know, assumed,” she shrugged, seeming almost disappointed that her assumption was incorrect. “I’m Rachael, by the way.”

“Nice to meet you but I- I have to get him home. Or- back to our apartment.”

The girl quirked an eyebrow. “Your apartment? You guys live together and you aren’t dating? That’s kinda funny.”

“I know. My dad said the same thing, dude. He didn’t want us moving in together because he thought that meant we were together and like, I was pretty offended honestly, but I-I kinda regret being offended because, even though I’m not gay- if I were gay I’d-”

“If?” Rachael snickered. “Just consider it. A little more,” she advised. The elevator arrived - had one of the other girls pressed the button? - so Rachael turned around and began to walk. Stan really didn’t have much of a choice but to follow, Kyle in his arms.

His head was fucking spinning. Why now? Why had a complete stranger decided, out of nowhere, to give him this specific bit of advice, and what did it mean? They weren’t gay, and they probably never would be.

(Probably.)

“Floor, uh-” Stan stammered out, looking down at Kyle and then up at the other girl standing near the buttons as he stepped into the elevator, “Floor five?”

“Sure,” the girl breathed out. “Your arms look pretty, uh, full.” With a sigh, she reached over and pressed the button that Stan had requested.

“Yeah,” Stan agreed.

The four strangers all stood together in an awkward silence, packed together in the tight elevator like sardines. Stan tried to minimize his space as much as he could, holding himself in the corner as if he were a criminal running from the police. He went over the girl’s words once, and then again, but nothing seemed to come out of it. He kept trying to push the idea away, again and again, but he just couldn’t. His eyes trailed over to the digital display of the elevator numbers, and it almost felt like they were going backwards and moving down and up and all different ways. He couldn’t make left or right of it.

“This is your stop,” Rachael said with a chuckle as the door started to open with a ding. Stan sighed again, trying to maneuver his way to the door. “Good luck with your, uh, friend.” He was almost sure that the way she said friend was supposed to be sarcastic or satirical, but he wasn’t the best at telling sarcasm from genuinity.

“Yeah, thanks,” he said in a half-sarcastic, half-genuine tone while he stepped out, because he didn’t know how else to respond. The girl - Rachael - replied with a salute out of the closing door, before the door was shut completely. Stan had hoped that was the last time he’d ever see Rachael again, because he didn’t really know how he’d explain that maybe, just maybe she was right.

It was then he realized he had no idea where the car was.

Kyle probably knew, but Stan couldn’t really afford to wake him up. In any case, he’d definitely feel bad for waking him up - but Kyle would probably be pissed, too. It took him a second, but he had concluded that he would just wander around until he found it. A foolproof plan, he decided as he started to walk towards the direction he just assumed the car was parked. It probably wouldn’t be hard to miss - the car was navy blue, not a very popular color, and it was a Hybrid Wrangler so it’d be easy to find.

It didn’t really take him long to find the car, but he was nonetheless completely relieved when he had seen it. It was right where it had been, completely untouched. Stan sighed and walked to the passenger side, trying to hold Kyle in one arm to unlock the door with his other hand. Somehow, by some fucking miracle, Stan managed to do just that, tugging the door open and placing Kyle inside like a sleeping prince. For a few seconds, he just watched the rise and fall of Kyle’s shoulders, the way his eyes were so gently closed, and the curls that had been tousled and dampened by the wind and rain with a small, boyish smile.

Okay, so he can accept one thing: Kyle was cute when he was sleeping.

Stan closed the door as lightly as he could, before wandering around the front of the Jeep and climbing into the car himself. He took a second to breathe, sitting there, not moving. His eyes were fixed ahead, staring at the wall until he was ready to drive. He went over the events that had happened prior in his head, still trying to make some sense of it, even if it was a hopeless task.

Feeling defeated, Stan patted both of his pockets before stuffing his hand into the right one, pulling the keys out. He clicked them into the ignition, giving them a turn before reaching down to change the gears, so he wasn't in park anymore. As his hands flowed from one task to the other in an effort to get out of the parking spot, Stan's eyes drifted over to Kyle - graceful, eloquent, and poise. He was so perfect when he was sleeping, like a picture that Stan wanted to hang up for the world to see. This was one of Kyle's rare moments of calamity, and Stan was going to take it for what it was.

He shifted his focus back to the road. His hands worked steadily on the wheel, making sure to turn just enough to get out of the twisting, turning walls of the parking garage. The lights were dim and yellow, casting just enough light for Stan to be able to get out of the garage. The light fell perfectly on all of Kyle's features - his freckles and hair always looked good in any lighting, but with the dim, yellow glow, they seemed even more perfect - somehow. Whatever the case, Stan was completely enamoured with this - with his best friend, in any case - and had to force himself to focus on the road.

The drive home was relatively quiet. Stan was avoiding potholes and leaving the radio station on some talk show at the lowest volume, all in an effort to make sure Kyle got home safe and sound. He felt like a knight, with his King, guiding a horse carriage and making sure they moved slow enough so his King could rest well. The thought made him snicker - especially because he knew that, if he ever told Kyle about any of that, Kyle would be very adamant that he was a King, not a prince. It was the kind of thing that Stan loved about Kyle. He was never ready to give up.

Drops of rain pattered the windshield window, dancing in a cacophonous, unorganized melody. In an effort to make sure Kyle stayed sleeping, Stan turned the windshield wipers on, driving mindlessly - head continuously switching gears between the road and the man sleeping next to him. City lights faded into street lights on the outskirts of town, illuminating the road just enough. Their apartment building had to be getting close - and Stan was forever grateful for that. He adjusted his grip on the steering wheel, trying to stay awake himself. Kyle was a lucky bastard, able to just sleep anywhere and get away with it because he was cute and Stan would carry him to the ends of the Earth if needed. Stan himself was fighting sleep, too, but he needed to stay awake. Just until they got home - then he’d probably have to wake Kyle up so they could get ready for bed.

At the sight of a red light, Stan mentally groaned as he slowed down the car. There wasn’t anyone around because of how late it was; logically, he could’ve ran the red light and gotten away with it. Instead, he waited, occasionally glancing at his sleeping friend. Usually, Kyle was alert, anxious to keep moving at a red light, but here he was - sleeping peacefully as ever, not a care in the world, his features illuminated by the bright red and dim yellow lights from outside. His red hair almost looked like it was made of fire, beautifully coloured by the mix of shining street lights outside.

Was it weird to stare at your best friend? Stan didn’t think so. He always found Kyle admirable - even the physical aspects of him. The only thing really impressive about Stan was his build, due to how many sports he played and the general awareness he had for health and physical wellness. Kyle, on the other hand, was naturally beautiful, a treasure buried deep within the sand. His porcelain skin looked like it was handcrafted by a dollmaker, his hair reminiscent of a phoenix’s feathers, his eyes piercing, refined jade crystals. Stan knew it was corny, but even still, Kyle was undeniably awe-striking.

Stan had been so busy admiring these features that he hadn’t realized the light turned green.

As the apartment building neared, Stan let out a small sigh of relief. He made his final turn into the back parking lot, trying to find his spot with the only thing illuminating his way being the headlights of the Jeep. It was hard to see, with the rain pouring down heavily in warning of a thunderstorm, but Stan could only really focus on his best friend, seated next to him, sleeping. He had just enough focus on the road to not crash the car, but not enough to realize he had passed his spot.

It was going to be a long night.  
\---  
“We’re home,” Stan whispered, closing the apartment door with his back. Kyle didn’t stir, still dozing away. The taller man reached for the light switch, flicking it on while still attempting to keep his hold on Kyle. Somehow, by some miracle, he managed to do just that, taking a few steps towards their bedroom door. He adjusted his grip on Kyle, his only mission being to get Kyle to bed before he could do anything else.

He made a few tired steps towards the bedroom door, with his arms starting to ache from carrying another man up a few flights of stairs. If the elevator wasn’t broken, he would’ve definitely taken that, but it was. A sigh broke through his lips as he entered their bedroom, flicking on the lightswitch. He hoped to God that Kyle wouldn’t wake up from the sudden intrusion of light, because Kyle was a really light sleeper, but Kyle didn’t move a single bit, so Stan just assumed he was still sleeping. Stan proceeded to place Kyle down gently on a patch of their mattress uncovered by the blankets, as though he were elven royalty and Stan was placing him down on a bed of flowers to rest.

Kyle hadn’t moved an inch. Stan figured he was just tired from all the social interaction - which really wasn’t uncommon for Kyle. He was definitely the more introverted of the two; talking to people tended to drain him of his energy. Kyle always complained when they were in large crowds that he was “tired” but Stan never really understood that. Stan liked people a lot more than Kyle did, and nobody is surprised.

Stan reached over and flicked off the light. Proud of himself that he managed to keep Kyle sleeping the entire time, he crawled into bed behind him, wrapping his arms around his waist and pulling him close. He let out a heavy sigh as he buried his face into the crook of Kyle’s neck, just laying there before sleep started to come over him. Eyelids heavy, he allowed the tired feeling to overcome him, falling into a deep sleep.


	5. bebe

Caption: An unlikely text from an unlikely friend this morning.

 

Kyle was used to being the first one to wake up. What he was also used to was waking up and finding Stan curled around him, as though he were trying to protect him. Neither of them minded this routine act - in fact, Kyle always enjoyed that it was  _ him _ who got to do this, no one else.  _ He _ was Stan’s only super best friend - no matter how many friends Stan was able to make with his overly friendly attitude towards everyone.

 

Call him crazy, but Kyle had always been very possessive of Stan. When Stan was dating Wendy - now Wends; they transitioned in high school - Kyle would cry himself to sleep nearly every night. He hated the thought that someone else shared the same closeness that he once thought was only his with Stan. After middle school, though, things started to change. Kyle started to become really good friends with Wendy, while Stan and Bebe were huge hippies together. No one really understood how Kyle and Wendy were friends, but they were.

 

A notification from his phone, resting on the bedside table, had interrupted his thoughts. He assumed it was from Kenny and slowly picked up his phone, movements slowed by the tiredness of the morning.

 

It wasn’t Kenny.

 

On his screen, a text from Bebe Stevens, of all people, was there, taunting him beneath the large “10:27” on his home screen.

 

_ “heyyyy!! r we still on for tonight?? wends bought snacks owo” _ the text read. Kyle went over it at least three times before realizing that this wasn’t his phone. It was Stan’s. The case didn’t have a sticker on the back, and it wasn’t green. The home screen was different. It was Stan’s phone.

 

Still, Kyle couldn’t look away. He read the messages over and over again, trying to make some sense of it. Where was Stan going? Why did Wends buy snacks? Why didn’t he know? 

 

Why did he care?

 

He felt crazy for even  _ considering _ that Stan would try to hide something from him. He knew Bebe and Stan were friends - why did this hit him so hard?

 

Okay, so maybe he knew. For the longest time, Kyle has…  _ maybe _ had a small crush on his best friend. It wasn’t anything bad; Kyle just chalked it up to something hopeless he’d never be able to fulfill. He didn’t really mind the idea that Stan Marsh would never, ever like him back, no matter how hard he tried.

 

Maybe he cared a  _ little. _

 

But that couldn’t have been the reason he was freaking out so much about this. Stan never mentioned being like,  _ with _ Bebe or anything, and Kyle figured they told each other everything so Stan had no reason to hide it. Unless, somehow, Stan knew that Kyle had an absolutely hopeless crush on him and decided to hide it from him to make him feel okay. But that’s not something Stan would do. 

 

Is it?

 

It took him a second to notice the movement beside him. Still leaning over to the bedside table, Kyle quickly threw the phone down and went back to how he was laying, trying to stay as still as possible. 

 

“Why are you up so early?” Stan grumbled, nuzzling his face into the crook of Kyle’s neck. In almost an instant, Kyle could feel all his nerves fading away. He felt safe, protected, as though Stan were his knight, pulling him close. He hated himself for that cheesy comparison, and it totally made himself sound like some heartbroken princess, but at the time he really didn’t mind. He tried to calm his breathing, before Stan reached a hand into his curly hair, wrapping a strand of his red, messy hair around his finger before letting go.

 

“I woke up because of the notification. On your phone,” Kyle sighed. That was a lie - but what else was he supposed to say? Stan called him out and he had no choice but to find an excuse.

 

“What was it?” Stan asked, with a small snicker as though he had known Kyle was going to snoop. He always had a way of just  _ knowing. _

 

“Uh, Bebe,” he breathed out before swallowing nervously. “She wanted to know if you were still on for tonight, or someth--”

 

Stan cut him off with a gasp. “Dude!” he chuckled, “I totally forgot to tell you.”

 

“Tell me  _ what?” _ Kyle’s voice had become harsh, snapping at Stan with little to no warning.

 

“Bebe wanted to have a party. I thought you’d be on my ass about getting it together so I didn’t tell you but- she said we should go. And you should come.”

 

“We?” Kyle asked. “I don’t go to parties. You know that.”

 

“Yeah, but, I mean, wouldn’t it be good to just go to one? It’s on Friday, too. We can still spend Saturday together--”

 

“We’ll be spending Saturday  _ hungover _ . I like spending my time with you where I can actually function, dude.”

 

Stan just sighed. “Listen, it’s an offer. But I think you should go. Promise you’ll think about it?”

 

After that, Kyle just sighed too.

 

“Promise.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm gonna start putting hints in the tags for the next chapters because, like, the way i've been writing the story, the next chapter is already done so like, stay tuned ig


	6. kenny

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> did someone say "more cliches"

Stan had to leave for classes that morning, functioning under the mentality that if he got every class done early he’d have the rest of the day to dick around and do whatever the fuck he wanted. Kyle was, admittedly, upset that Stan had to leave, but he didn’t mind too much, as it gave him some time to think over Stan’s words.

One thing Kyle hated doing was making promises, because there was always the inevitability of the chance that they might fall through. And it seemed as though he’d just made another promise that he’d never be able to keep. It might not come as a surprise that Kyle hated parties, but the reason had always been something he never told Stan. Never.

Senior year of high school, Kyle had finally agreed to go to a party with Stan. Just one, he figured, can’t do any harm.

He was wrong.

Stan got trashed, Kyle stayed sober. (They didn’t have another ride; Clyde’s house was too far away for them to walk and Kyle was better at not drinking.) He remembered every single little detail from that night, too - the fit of anxiety he went into the second he entered the house, Stan crying into his lap about his girlfriend, and that stupid game of spin the bottle that he got involved in. Granted, it was high school, but seriously? They were almost adults.

Kyle remembered Stan sitting directly next to Cartman, Clyde on his other side. Kyle was placed between Kenny and Token, while Wendy, who wasn’t participating, spun the bottle for everyone else. He remembered the wave of anxiety crashing over him when the bottle almost pointed to Cartman, then turned ever so slightly, causing a new wave of anxiety with the realization that he’d have to kiss his very drunk best friend, who probably tasted like Jameson and strawberry Smirnoff. He’d so desperately wanted to hide, but he couldn’t, as he’d chosen to play this game, and probably wouldn’t live it down for the rest of senior year. And anyways, he didn’t want to hurt Stan’s feelings; Stan was an emotional drunk and would probably get really fucking upset if Kyle denied for whatever reason. Kyle really didn’t want to have to argue with a drunk Stan.

So he kissed him.

What a fucking stupid mistake.

The next day, Stan had no recollection of the event, or why both of their lips were bruised and he was in Kyle’s room. Kyle chose not to tell him, and he hadn’t. Ever.

He knew he wouldn’t be able to go to another party with Stan after that. He damn well knew it. His anxiety would flare up, he would try to leave, and then he’d probably cause a scene. He was pretty sure no one remembered what happened, and that’s what he chose to believe, because no one - not even Wendy - brought it up after that night and he was so damn glad that they didn’t.

The thoughts swirled around in his head like a whirlpool of rushing rapids. It wasn’t like he could talk to Stan about this, but there did happen to be someone that might just understand.  
\--  
“So why do you wanna get coffee all of a sudden?” Kenny asked, drumming his fingers on the side of his cup with a chuckle.

“It’s Stan,” Kyle breathed defeatedly, taking a sip of his tea. He hated coffee with a passion; the tea provided just enough sweetness to be bearable. Cartman used to call him a little bitch for drinking straight black tea when he would drink coffee with a shit ton of creamer, proving his statement false and hypocritical. As always.

“Isn’t it always?” the blonde joked.  
  
Kyle did not seem amused.

“Ohhh, okay, so it’s like, really bad this time, huh?” Kenny mused, voice sounding like a therapist trying to get to the bottom of their patient’s issue. That was the thing Kyle loved about Kenny - he was so comforting. It gave Kyle a sense of security, like he wasn’t going to die like he had thought an hour ago.

Kenny didn’t go to their college, but he did live in the area. He had put all his college savings towards Karen, instead opting to work as a mechanic at a store that didn’t require too much experience. He wasn’t ever too worried about life; it was always Karen who he was worried about, and when he wasn’t worrying about Karen, he was helping his friends get through their lives. One of the most selfless people Kyle’s met, for sure.

“It’s just-” Kyle sighed, “He wants me to go to this party with Bebe, but…”

“But?”

“Did I ever tell you about senior year?”

“Nope,” Kenny chuckles, popping the ‘p’ sound.

“We kissed. And it wasn’t- He was drunk so it wasn’t just, a quick one, either, dude.”

Kenny nodded, taking a sip of his coffee. He seemed unphased by the information that Kyle had just given him, waiting for him to continue with his story, as if the fact that these two who always said that they weren’t gay already made out wasn’t surprising at all to him.

“What?” Kyle snapped, “Don’t look at me like that.”

“Wait- that’s it?”

“What do you mean ‘that’s it’? Yes, that’s it. I’m not going to another party with him. I’m not exactly eager to make out with my best friend. Again,” Kyle explained. Kenny just shook his head, pinching the bridge of his nose before looking up at the redhead again.

“Ky,” he breathed out, “I thought you two were fucking.”

Kyle was speechless for a second. He held his breath for a second, trying not to absolutely fucking explode at Kenny, who was really just trying to help at the time.

“We aren’t,” Kyle said methodically, “and we won’t, but-”

“You talk about how much you love him every time you see me and you really think I’m gonna believe that, man? Bullshit.”

“He doesn’t love me back, dumbass!” Kyle snapped, slamming his fist on the table, which gathered the attention of a few people in the cafe. The redhead sighed, running a hand down his face while the people he’d accidentally gained the attention of went back to their morning conversations.

“Bet,” Kenny chuckled.

“Bet?”

“Yeah. He totally likes you back.”

The two continued to talk until noon, when Kyle had his first class. He couldn’t say he didn’t find it absolutely therapeutic to talk to someone for hours about issues he absolutely needed to talk about, and with Kenny’s positive, reassuring attitude, he only felt better about it. Kenny had made something very clear, though. If he wanted to get over what happened senior year, he ought to go to that party.

So Kyle had decided. He was going to the party, but just for the sake of his own mental health. There really wasn’t any harm in going, and Kyle really needed to get out more, so it’s like, totally a win-win situation. He just couldn’t get involved in any dumb games again, and he’d be a-okay.

Right?

Right.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> more fucking cliches

Caption: What the fuck is he doing.

The day of the party approached quickly, Kyle fretting every day it approached. Stan, on the other hand, was fucking ecstatic, having set the whole thing up with Bebe and Wendy. (Kyle was a bit mad that they didn’t let him help, but he understood why.) Every day, Stan was talking about it more and more, practically counting down the fucking minutes.

On the last day - Friday - before the party, the two had complete opposite moods. Kyle was worried out of his goddamn mind and Stan was completely calm, as though he had everything under control. On top of worrying about the party, Kyle had a test that day that was stressful as hell. He didn’t do well with tests when he was worrying, but he did his best. He’d take an eighty tops, probably.

Kyle had to skip his Culinary Fundamentals class for this stupid party. He’d probably have to ask Rachael for the notes like he always did when he missed that class. She was nice enough, he supposed.

When he got home, Kyle looked around the apartment for Stan. He knew he’d be home, just, he didn’t know where.

While he was pondering this, Stan walked out of their bedroom in a fresh t-shirt, skinny jeans, and his letterman jacket. All Kyle could do was stare, his feet locked in place while he observed the tight t-shirt between his open jacket. He looked so… so perfect.

“You gonna get changed?” Stan asked, stepping aside so Kyle could walk through the hallway. Kyle just nodded hazily, feet locked in place for another second before he remembered himself and jogged into their bedroom.

When he was in, Kyle tossed his bag down on the office chair near their desk, making his way over to his dresser. It was then when he realized that he had absolutely no idea what he was going to wear. He rummaged through his drawers hopelessly, looking for something, anything that would fit in a party setting.

Finally, after what felt like years of searching, Kyle found his old pair of jean shorts, the ones he bought in junior year and still, somehow, was able to fit into. He paired those with a pair of leggings, laying them both out on the bed and searching for a reasonable shirt and jacket to wear. To his surprise, he managed to find a white t-shirt and a cropped leather jacket, both of which he had no idea he actually had due to the fact that he always wore long sleeved, baggy clothes. He figured they looked fine, and decided to put them on.

It only took a few minutes for Kyle to get changed, but when he walked out of the bedroom, he was holding a comb, trying to get a few kinks out of his hair. Stan was sitting on the couch, scrolling through his phone as if he hadn’t realized Kyle just walked out of their room. When he noticed, his jaw fucking dropped.  
“Wow,” he managed, standing up from the couch, “You look great.”

Kyle looked down at his outfit, feeling awkward and out of place. It most certainly wasn’t what he was used to. He felt… new. “You think so?” he asked. “I thought it was like, too much.”

“No, no, it’s-” Stan stammered. His eyes trailed to Kyle’s legs, staring for what felt like too long to be of a straight nature. “Yeah. You look- you look really good.”

Kyle slowly nodded, tugging at his sleeve a little bit - nervous habit, damnit. Why was he nervous? It was just a party. With lots of sweaty college students. That probably smelled like weed and liquor. Just a party, though. Just a party.

Right?  
\--  
It was around 9:00 PM when the blue hybrid pulled up to Bebe and Wends’ house. The entire car ride was filled with light chatter over Stan’s grunge music that was agreeable at best to Kyle, and what angered him was the fact that he knew it was only sorta good because it was Stan and everything about Stan was perfect.

“You okay?” Stan asked, looking over to Kyle, who had been bouncing his leg up and down out of anxiety. It was odd; Stan could always tell when something was up with Kyle, like it was his fucking superpower.

“Yeah. Yeah- I’m okay. It’s just- you know how I am. With people, I mean,” Kyle replied flippantly, looking out of the window at the house that was already booming with music, appearing as though the walls were shaking. It seemed like the house was packed.

He probably couldn’t be more terrified.

“Are you like, drinking this time?” The way Stan asked seemed more like a request, as though he wanted Kyle to drink. “You never do.”  
  
Kyle thought it over for a second. “Maybe? I’m not sure. I mean- if, y’know, I decide I want to in there-”

“You’re gonna drink? But I thought you said--”

“That I didn’t wanna spend the rest of the day hungover when that’s our hangout day? Yeah. I did, but- I don’t know. It can’t be that bad and we could just call an Uber.” His reasoning is just enough to ease Stan’s concerns, the noirette popping open the car door. Kyle followed suit, opening his car door and stepping down on to the patch of grass in front of Bebe’s house. Stan jogged around the hybrid, standing next to Kyle as they both stared at the house.

To Kyle’s surprise, Stan’s rough knuckles brushed against his own. The redhead took his hand, intertwining their fingers and giving his hand a squeeze. Stan had to have been able to tell that he was nervous. It was written all over his face, etched into his pale skin like words on a piece of paper. When Stan started to walk into the house, Kyle felt his heartbeat speed up. His knees felt as though they’d give out from under him at any point. He attempted to keep up with his speed, following along and tripping only once along the way up the path.

The two stumbled into the house, looking around for Bebe’s coat closet. Stan seemed to know exactly where it was, pulling Kyle into a room on the side. Stan definitely felt weird thinking about that - he had just gotten here and he was already pulling Kyle aside into a closet - but the thought only made him snicker as he slipped off his letterman jacket and hung it on a coat. Kyle was most certainly confused as he heard this snicker, but he simply stood there, waiting for Stan to be finished.

“So now what?” Kyle asked, looking up at Stan and then over to the door.

“We go have fun, duh,” Stan replied as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. Kyle nodded, though he had no idea how to have “fun” in a house that smelled like actual shit and was packed tighter than a pack of sardines.

He followed Stan out of the closet. A part of him had known the entire week that he’d really just be following Stan around the whole party, until Stan beelined it for the drinks. Because of course he did, this is Stanley Marsh we’re talking about. Wends, of course, was the one pouring drinks, which gave Kyle instant relief.

“Hey Wends,” Kyle said almost instantly, before Stan had a chance. They gave a small confused smile, looking Kyle up and down as though he were some strange, outlandish creature from another planet.

“Hi, Kyle. Why are you here, man? I thought you hated parties.”

“Yeah. Guess I do,” he joked, “But I’m here because Stan dragged me here, and--”

“Dude,” Stan interjected, “I didn’t drag you here. You agreed to come, y’know.”

Wends rolled their eyes. “Whatever you two say. Just- let me get you something to drink. You need it,” they chuckled, reaching for a few different bottles.

The rest of the night was a blur. The second Kyle took a sip of that strawberry Smirnoff - the only thing he’d ever really drink - he could feel himself slipping. He was a lightweight, definitely, but that didn’t stop him from getting one cup. Two.

The music started to blur. Kyle couldn’t make out any faces anymore. He just felt happy - elated? And Stan was there, dancing next to him - wait, no, with him to whatever music neither of them listened to. Another cup was pressed to Stan’s lips, and then he was passing the cup to him, and they were happy, and smiling.

He could’ve sworn he heard Stan say something like “What are you doing in a place like this?” but his mind was such a blur that he didn’t know if it was real. The next thing he knew, the two were wandering out together, Stan leading as though he had been the more sober of the two. They forced their way through the crowd of what felt like millions of people, all drunk, together, Stan holding Kyle’s hand.

Kyle stood on the porch while Stan called an Uber. Or was he calling a taxi? He couldn’t tell. The music blared from inside the house, the bass seeming to shake the walls as if it were trying to escape. A headache started to settle in when the car- the car pulled up? When had Stan called?

Then he was climbing in the car. They both sat in the back, with Kyle leaning against Stan’s shoulder. Maybe Stan told some joke, because then Kyle was giggling, and then so was Stan, and he thought maybe he heard something like “You’re so drunk.” to which he responded “No I’m not!” with another giggle. City lights seemed to start to fade into view, almost blinding, which caused Kyle to bury his face in Stan’s shoulder, and then he felt a hand make its way through his messy curls, and the two of them sat like that for the rest of the ride until someone yelled at them to get the fuck out of the car.

They wandered up to the elevator of the apartment complex, with Kyle stumbling the entire way. Was he stumbling? It felt like it.   
  
Kyle didn’t remember much else from that point. They stumbled into the apartment and climbed into bed, and then - were those his clothes on the floor? And then they were close, like, really close, with their bodies pressed against one another. There was some sort of pressure on his lips, and his eyes were closed. Then Stan was above him, and he felt good. And then they were under the sheets, and everything was really warm, and then--

And then it was morning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> we'll be back to stan next chapter dw


End file.
